


Software Update

by Transformationstuck Mod GG (tfstuck)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cyborgs, Masturbation, Mental Transformation, Mind Control, POV Second Person, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, Rubber, Transformation, indoctrination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 03:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10505277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfstuck/pseuds/Transformationstuck%20Mod%20GG
Summary: Anonymous asked: Vriska's robot arm gets infected with a nanovirus and slowly begins to take over her and turn her into a sexbot as she struggles to keep control of herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Read on Tumblr](http://transformationstuck.tumblr.com/post/147195304469/vriskas-robot-arm-gets-infected-with-a-nanovirus)

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you’re incredi8ly 8ored. Even with the blazing Alternian sun long vanished beneath the horizon, the day is uncomfortably warm, leaving peasantry and aristocracy alike cooped up inside, waiting out the heat. You’ve already gotten irritated and cracked open a few magic 8-balls, and you’re certain the resulting 8ad luck isn’t making it cool off any faster. You drum your metallic fingertips on your table, and a ping draws your attention to your husktop.  A notification has popped up, informing you of an important firmware update for your cyberware. You guess your lunkheaded weirdo neighbour across the way hasn’t had his work impeded by the heat… he’s always dripping in sweat regardless of temperature. Without bothering to look into the window any further (because patch notes are for losers), you open your access-port on your wrist and plug in, click accept, and settle back to let the download commence. 

A red progress-bar fills the ‘screen’ of your cybernetic left eye, text rapidly flickering by faster than  you can really make out. Wait… red? When does Zahhak ever use red for anything other than his own weird kinks? You frown and focus, trying to read some of the filenames being transferred as they flicker past in your vision. You aren’t sure, but you think you manage to make out something about “ **compliance** ” and “ **crockercorpdoll** ” and “ **hicpleasuredroneprogramming** ”, and your pumpbiscuit skips a beat. That doesn’t sound like something Equius programmed. You check the message on your husktop again, a sense of dread settling into the pit of your belly when you see the Imperial trident insignia emblazoned on the bottom of the page. You reach for the cable to unplug yourself before it can complete, but it’s too late: 

**DroneNanoviralUpdate.exe download complete, update-nanites activating.**

A tingling jolt runs through your arm and eye and straight down your spine, and your whole body tenses up in your seat, movement nearly impossible. You stare down at your simple, segmented-silver hand as a shimmering grey nanite goo starts bubbling up from between its panels. The nanites always come out when there’s a standard update, but you’ve got a feeling this will be anything but standard, given by the sleek rubbery black-and-fuchsia coating the nanites leave behind as they spread across your knuckles and up towards your wrist, your elbow, your shoulder. You feel it all, and it feels… better than it should, a pleasant tingling that makes you nervous. 

Meanwhile a similar tingling, crawling sensation spreads from your eye and into your head, bringing with it unbidden thoughts- Obey. Submit. Serve. The usual Imperial expectations of her subjects, cast in a very specific light as they echo through your mind. You were always a bit of a rebel - the Marquise never showed much due respect to the Empress, why should you? - but as you sit there, increasingly captive in your own mind, you find yourself struggling not to fantasize about the queen - your face pressed between her thighs paying due tribute; your nook stretched impossibly wide around the enormous ruler’s regal bulge; kneeling on all fours with her feet propped on your back like a piece of furniture.You shake your head with what little range of motion you have, denying the intoxicating thoughts. Slowly, you inch your fingertips of your other hand toward your keys and begin shakily trolling the first chump you can: 

AG: fuck fuck f8ck F8CK H8LP SOMETH8NG IS WR8NG!!!!!!!!

Your shaking finger taps the enter key, then your focus is torn from the screen by the slippery, cold sensation of nanites touching your bare flesh. They’ve reached your shoulder, the grey-goo gliding up over coarse blue blast-scars and soaking in through your pores. It tingles, and burns, and feels like liquid pleasure. You watch with horror and morbid fascination as the black-and-red creeps across your torso, while your clothes fall apart under the onslaught of miniscule corruptive nanomachines. Some part of you wonders how you’ll look after you’ve been converted, and hopes you’ll be hot. The virus rewards you with a tingle of pleasure for that compliant thought, and the rubbery coating surges up over your rumblespheres, somehow accentuating your nipples in warm fuchsia rubber rather than smoothing them over with glossy black. It feels… weirdly really great. 

Your breathing becomes shaky and fluttery with fear and anticipation, feeling the nanites slide higher and lower along your frame - above, it’s nearing your throat, while gliding unceasingly inch by inch toward your bulge-sheath and nook down below. Despite your best efforts to fight it off and keep control of yourself, a few inches of slippery cobalt bulge have emerged from your sheath, coming out to meet the encroaching corruption head-on. The first touch of the infectious goo to your tender bulge makes you shudder and tense, eyes fluttering back in their sockets helplessly for a moment. The sensation is stronger than anything you’ve ever felt - stronger than pailing, alone or with a partner, stronger than any of your toys. You watch, enraptured, as red overwrites your cobalt length, plumping it out and lengthening it into a sleek, shiny toy-bulge perfect for serving your future owner, the condescension. The virus rewards you for those thoughts yet again, this time by freeing your now entirely-converted hand and arm from the tense motionlessness you’ve been trapped in. 

Trying again to escape barely even registers in your mind; your arm jumps straight to your fattening, converting bulge and wraps around it, squeezing tight with the faint squeal of rubber on rubber.You begin stroking, faster and faster as the virus spreads more rapidly. Your attention lapses in the wake of the pleasure, but you feel the nanites slipping down into your bulge and up into your nook with another wave of pleasure. As you stroke, your preslime stops flowing cerulean and gives way to sweet-scented, slippery cherry-red that drips down onto your half-covered legs, spreading the infection even faster. 

A tickle on the back of your neck and around your face draws your attention, however briefly, from fervently gazing at your own bulge. You glance into a mirror and gasp - the corruption has subsumed almost your entire body, tickling its way up your horns and lingering around your face. Saving the best for last, it tells you. Too lost in the rapture of conversion to resist anymore, you lean your head back and open your mouth, uttering a long, low moan as it spreads across your face and dives inside you. Your downfall tastes sweet as it fills your mouth, converting your flesh to electronics one cell at a time. You keep watching yourself in the mirror as you stroke your bulge, a morbid, perverse fascination filling you up as the black-and-red rubber smooths over the surfaces of your face to erase your identity, leaving only the faint impressions of a nose and eyes, but a fully functioning (if rubberized) mouth. Your nook, throat, and waste-chute all tingle pleasantly, something inside them changing. **[INSTALLING TOY-TEXTURE HOLES]** reads your heads-up display, helpfully informing you of all the wonderful changes your owner’s upgrade is giving you. **[INCREASING ELASTICITY. AUGMENTING FLEXIBILITY. REROUTING INTERNAL PATHWAYS. TISSUE CONVERSION AT 80%.. 90%… CACHING PERSONALITY FILES. INSTALLING DRONE SOFTWARE… INITIALIZING.]**

A sense of finality runs through you as it nears completion, your bulge aching as it teeters on the brink of eruption. The reflection of your shiny, anonymized and clearly Imperial-owned body bucks in your seat, impatiently waiting for one last thing.  
**[CACHING IDENTITY… RECEIVING NEW CALLSIGN. THIS UNIT IS IMPERIAL PLEASURE DRONE UNIT V-08. THIS UNIT EXISTS TO SERVE HER IMPERIOUS CONDESCENSION. FINALIZING UPGRADE…COMPLETE.]**  
As the words of your new identity burn themselves into your mind, you finally cum. Glowing ruby-red nanite-laden seed gushes from your writhing fattened bulge. It splatters across your glossy chassis, across your husktop, your floor, your walls. It feels good to serve, to exist for the Empress’s pleasure. Once the bulk of the pleasure has subsided, you raise yourself from the chair and stand at attention, onboard computer transmitting your location and status to the queen’s other drones, so they can come collect you for your new life. 

Your name is Unit V-08 and you’re incredi8ly pleased. 

**Author's Note:**

> Send in your Homestuck TF prompts over at [our Tumblr!](http://transformationstuck.tumblr.com)


End file.
